When Trees Communicate About Humans (It’s Not Pretty)

Scientists have long known that trees communicate through underground fungal networks, sharing nutrients and warning each other of danger. What we did not know–until now–is that they have also been gossiping about us. This revelation came through careful monitoring of mycorrhizal networks, and frankly, it is mortifying.

“Oh, here comes another one with their little phone camera,” reported a three-hundred-year-old oak to its neighbors last Tuesday. “Watch, they’re going to hug me for exactly 4.2 seconds, post it on something called ‘Instagram,’ then never come back. Tale as old as time–well, as old as 2010, anyway.”

The sentiment appears widespread. A Douglas fir in Oregon’s Willamette Valley was particularly exasperated: “They carved ‘Brad + Jennifer 4ever’ into my bark in 2004. They broke up in 2005. I’m stuck with this for another 250 years, minimum. Thanks, Brad.”

What Trees Say About Human Yard Work (Hint: They’re Laughing at Us)

Perhaps most amusing to the arboreal community is humans’ obsession with “landscaping.” Through their fungal communication networks–what scientists call the “wood wide web”–trees share observations about human behavior that would make most of us blush. A cluster of maples in suburban Connecticut reported barely suppressing their laughter–manifested as slightly rustling leaves–whenever homeowners meticulously rake up their fallen leaves.

“Kevin spends four hours every Saturday bagging up our leaves,” shared one maple. “Then he goes to Home Depot and buys bags of mulch to put around our roots. It’s literally just… other trees’ leaves. We’ve been managing this cycle perfectly fine for 400 million years, but sure, Kevin, you’ve got it figured out.”

A birch tree added: “And the grass! Oh my chlorophyll, the grass obsession. They water it, cut it, fertilize it, then water it again so it grows faster so they can cut it again. It’s like they’re in an abusive relationship with their own lawn.”

The Existential Crisis of the Christmas Tree

The annual winter ritual of “Christmas trees” remains a source of dark humor in evergreen communities.

“Let me get this straight,” said a bewildered spruce. “They cut down Doug, drag him inside their house, string lights all over him, put a weird star on his head, shove presents underneath him, and call this a ‘celebration.’ Then in January, they throw him in the street like garbage. And they wonder why we drop sap on their cars.”

A pine tree interjected: “At least they’re honest about it. Don’t get me started on ‘Earth Day.’ They plant ONE sapling, take seventeen photos, then drive their SUV to a celebratory brunch. We call that ‘performative photosynthesis.'”

The Bathroom Situation Is Out of Control”

By far the most frequent complaint among trees involves a certain biological function that humans seem unable to control in outdoor settings.

“Every. Single. Festival,” fumed an elm at a popular concert venue. “Thousands of humans show up, there are porta-potties EVERYWHERE, and yet somehow I’m still getting peed on by a guy named Trevor who ‘couldn’t wait in line.’ Trevor, I have a root system that’s been here since 1847. Show some respect.”

A willow near a college campus added: “The things I’ve seen after midnight on Saturdays would make a compost heap blush. And they’re supposed to be the intelligent species?”

What Trees Really Think About Climate Change and Human Excuses

When discussing climate change, the mood among trees shifted from bemused to frustrated.

“They’ve known about this for decades,” said an ancient bristlecone pine. “I’ve lived through 4,000 years of climate stability, and now in the last 150 years–which is like, what, a sneeze for me–they’ve destabilized the entire system. But sure, let’s debate whether it’s ‘real’ while I’m literally standing here watching my growth rings get all wonky.”

A California redwood was more philosophical: “We survived ice ages, volcanic eruptions, and meteor strikes. We’ll probably survive humans too. The question is whether they’ll survive themselves. My bet? We’ll be here long after they’ve argued themselves into extinction.”

In Their Defense…

Some trees did admit that humans are not all bad.

“There was this one woman who used to read under my branches every Sunday for twelve years,” shared an ash tree in Brooklyn. “Never carved anything, never broke my limbs, just sat and read and sometimes fell asleep against my trunk. I kind of miss her since she moved.”

A young sapling added: “And some of them really are trying with the whole climate thing. Those kids who keep protesting? We’re rooting for them. Get it? Rooting?”

The ancient oak groaned, its branches creaking: “We need to work on your humor. You’ve got another 500 years to improve that joke.”

The Bottom Line: What Trees Want Humans to Know

After compiling centuries of observations through their mycorrhizal networks, trees have a simple message for humanity: they have been watching, they have been judging, and they are mostly just confused by our choices.

“We’re not angry,” summarized the ancient oak. “We’re just disappointed. And also a little entertained. Mostly disappointed though.”

When asked if there’s hope for human-tree relations, a young elm offered this: “Sure. Stop peeing on us, respect our space, and maybe–just maybe–take the whole climate thing seriously. We’re literally giving you oxygen. The least you could do is not turn the planet into a sauna.”

The trees declined to provide last names, citing concerns about being turned into furniture.

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